THE SKY'S THE LIMIT, Part 6
by mabb5
Summary: Sequel to THE BEST LAID PLANS.  It's long.  It's convoluted.  How Jean-Luc and Beverly really met.  adult.


_**THE SKY'S THE LIMIT**_

_**Part 6. **_

_My version of how Jean-Luc and Beverly really met - just about every TNG fan fic writer has one! Definitely adult._

_Revised May 2013. Only corrected found typos and a few continuity errors._

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

_He knew this place… _

_The bright white everything..._

_There were no shadows…_

_The voice of god was bellowing his name… _

_Nagging him… _

_Irritating him…_

_He'd been here before… _

_Maybe he had never left_…

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

It was a beautiful night. One of the finest in recent memory. Of course, Captain Jean-Luc Picard had spent the last eighteen years of his life as an officer then captain on board the _Stargazer, _so his encounters with beautiful nights with balmy breezes on pleasant planets were few and far between.

Jean-Luc Picard was on leave. He really didn't want to be here, but he'd been given no choice. The _Stargazer _was in dry dock for several months at Proxima Centauri, having long-needed upgrades being done to all of her major systems. Picard knew that he should be there, supervising. But the Starfleet psychiatrists had a _different_ point of view. Picard had not taken a shore leave in over two years. The doctors did not give him a choice. He'd been forced to take a minimum of a forty day leave. And if he didn't behave the psychiatrists might extend it.

At first, he'd explored Alpha Centauri, but unfortunately he ran into Admiral Woody Nakamura. In no uncertain terms he was told to go vacation somewhere else that was light years away from his ship.

Realizing that his old friend Woody was adamant, Jean-Luc Picard took the first passenger ship out of port, and ended up going to Clarion.

Picard had only heard of Clarion, and had never visited, even though it was one of the finest vacation planets in the Alpha Quadrant.

It was an artist's planet. A planet for all the worlds, devoted to the arts in all of its forms. Music, dance, literature, theatre, art, gambling and more. It also didn't hurt that the planet itself was one of the most beautiful in the Federation.

It was during his second week of shore leave on Clarion, that he found himself ambling along a cliff face following a park trail downhill through a semi-arid plane, on his way to an outdoor amphitheatre below in a valley.

As he neared the outdoor symphony hall (for it never rained on Clarion during an outdoor performance), he felt as if the night was brimming with anticipation. For what, he did not know. But he was enjoying the sensation. He hadn't felt it in a long time. He was beginning to relax.

The path, though dark, was lit with many flickering guide lights. It meandered by smaller stages built against the cliff sides, set into gardens with benches. Anyone was welcome to perform before the concerts.

So, the captain slowly walked. Sometimes he was amused by what the artists performed. Sometimes he watched, listened and enjoyed. Sometimes the performance was of little interest, though he did politely wait a few minutes at every stop, just to at least acknowledge the effort of the performers or musicians.

As twilight fell, he knew that the concert would be starting soon, so he hurried his step.

He heard the music before he came up to the next station. He knew it well. _Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody based on a Theme and Variations by Paganini. _He walked quietly as he approached the stage. And then he froze, stunned by the vision before him.

_For she was beauty like the night; grace incarnate._

And he had never seen anyone so exquisite before, in his life. Almost afraid to breathe lest he startle her, he watched her dance.

She flowed, as if floating over the stage. She was tall. Her slender body gracefully interpreted the melodic lines of her dance.

She was wearing something silvery grey. It was an Antarian skin suit with a long chiffon skirt. Something twinkled in starburst patterns across the fabric. Her hair was long and flowing - a glorious flame red, that now moved with wild curling abandon with the föhn breezes.

He sensed her control, her strength. She was a dancer moving with the sheer joy of it - dancing with her heart. Picard sensed that she would never be able to duplicate this choreography again, for it seemed extemporaneous. Her soul was creating her every movement as the music played on. And when the music ended she gracefully moved into her final position, resting on the stone floor of the stage.

She glanced in his direction.

She had known he was there. There was no one else. She had performed only for him.

She stared at him. Questioning.

"You were _superb…,_" he finally whispered, surveying her visage, mentally acknowledging that she was as beautiful a woman as she was a dancer. He stepped forward, bowed and offered her his hand. She clasped it, and permitted him to pull her to her feet.

Picard froze at the touch of her hand, as something elemental passed between them. Something that was not just visceral, but eternal, was touching his soul.

"Superb…" he whispered, again, brushing a soft kiss across her palm. Then he kissed each finger tip, lightly caressing them with his tongue.

Her palm tingled. The touch of his lips brought forth a thrill of heat, of longing, that stunned her. She trembled. No man's touch had ever brought about this kind of response before. _How could a stranger's touch ignite her heart? She should protest. But she lacked the will. _She withdrew her hand and backed away from the heady intensity of his gaze. _It was as if he wanted to own her. Her mind instantly knew he was a very dangerous man. Her body only desired his touch._

He knew that he _must_ see more of her. He took a step closer to her.

She turned and fled for her life, away from him.

He let her go, fearing that if he pursued her, his life would never be the same again.

The concert was excellent. He enjoyed deFalla's _Amor Brujo, _Rodrigo's _Fanfare for the Common Man,_ and the subsequent pieces by Albeniz, Turina and DeLaRoccha from New Spain. But there was a part of him that kept scanning the crowd, in the vain hope of seeing a flame-haired dancer again. Finally, he ruefully acknowledged to himself that he was being foolish. He transported back to his garden suite.

For a brief time, he allowed himself a bathetic moment as he contemplated his aloneness. For on such a night like this, there should have been a beautiful woman on his arm. And he had yet to seek out the company of any such female during his shore leave.

An hour later, he received a message from Woody Nakamura. Woody was on Clarion too. But he was at a hotel in New Las Vegas. And he asked Picard to join him for a drink and maybe a friendly card game. Picard considered it and then agreed. For the night was still young, and at least Woody was an old friend as well as an admiral. It had been a long time since Picard had indulged in just friendly companionship and discussion, as well as cut-throat poker games.

He glanced about his suite. It was acceptable. He asked Woody back here along with the other officers that were sure to be in attendance at the game. Picard no longer had a taste for smoke filled back rooms and seedy dives. He went to a terminal and ordered the appropriate food and drink items and the time to deliver them. His choices included Berengarian whiskey, Bajoran spring beer, and Château Picard wines. For the Marriott was a luxury hotel complex, and had Château Picard in their wine cellar. And Picard knew of no admiral that would refuse an excellent vintage wine.

Picard's hotel suite was actually a private lodge set in the middle of one of the art filled garden parks surrounding the main Marriott hotel. He had decided to indulge himself on this shore leave by choosing the more luxurious hotel options. He had a private waterfall, set into the cliffs behind his lodge. If one ignored the glow from the lights in the distances, it was almost as if he was residing in a flower and sculpture filled wilderness.

He changed into a dark brown shantung shirt and matching slacks. He didn't want to appear overly dressed when he met Woody. But he also didn't want to stand out too much in a saloon named _The Blue Tattoo._

When Picard reached New Las Vegas, he was impressed by the way the Clarions created the atmospheres for the various themed cities on the planet. Clarion Prime was balmy. But Vegas was tropical. Steamy. And it was a good excuse for many not to wear too much clothing.

The Blue Tattoo Bar was as he expected. It had been a long time since he'd had a drink in one like this. The noise in the bar was equaling Klingon sortie sound levels. There were females and some males, dancing on raised platforms, wearing little more than flashing beads and blue tattoos. Many wore _a come hither for a price _smiles. A few even approached him as he entered the establishment. He shrugged them off with an apologetic smile. He scanned the room and didn't see anyone that was obviously Starfleet out of uniform.

Loud music, but with a surprisingly sexy pulsating beat filled the main floor dance area.. There were several dance and dining floors above the atrium that held the main bar all filled with patrons imbibing freely.

Picard found an iron café table on the main floor in a somewhat quieter corner, where he could observe. For he was early, and had yet to see any signs of admirals out of uniform. The waiter that took his order also informed him that there were no senior officers present. Though there were many students on break.

He watched for a while. And then he sensed something. Faint. His pate prickled. He felt itchy as old restrained emotions began to threaten to surface. He glanced about the room trying to locate the source of these sensations.

Then he saw her. She was the ethereal nymph from the park. But she had dramatically changed her style.

His flame-haired Muse had reinvented herself as _Voluptas, the Roman goddess of sex. _

_Lust slammed hard at his gut. It was stronger than anything he'd ever known before including during his days as a randy space cadet.. He was so aroused that he didn't just want her. He wanted to own her, to possess her, to carnally know her in every way he could imagine. He had to have her. He wanted to conquer her. And take more. Everything more. And then more._

The flame haired goddess was in a line dance - sort of a conga line about the floor. The throbbing of the music was inspiring her body to movements that should never be done in public.

_He was instantly jealous of every other man looking upon her. _

Compared to what the other women were wearing in the bar, she was dressed like a Vulcan High Priestess. It was a long dress of shimmering copper with a high mandarin collar, and a revealing slit up her left leg to her hip. It clung to every curve. The sheath's only purpose was to emphasize the fullness of her bosom, the curve of her hip, and the length of her impossibly long legs. He was one moment away from kidnapping her and dragging her to the nearest dark corner he could find.

_Jean-Luc Picard had never paid for sex in his life. But he did consider that he finally might have met the woman who'd change his mind. Whatever her price was, he would pay it._

Beverly had come to this bar with her friends, just to drink and have some fun, and _to not think about the future. _She'd taken this spring break in order to have some time to consider her feelings for Jack.

And then she saw him - the man from the park. Their gazes locked. And for some unfathomable reason, she was caught spellbound. Captivated by his eyes.

It was _him. Of course he would be here. He was her personal trial, the devil who could seduce her by just kissing her fingertips_.

Subconsciously she raised her arms above her head. Now she was moving with erotic deliberation to the rhythm of the music, as she gazed only at him. Thrusting her breasts forward, twisting her hips, enticing him with her every _come hither _step; her every movement was a private invitation only for him. Her mind didn't know what she was doing. Only her body did. She was dancing for _him_ again. But this time, it was with pure carnality.

He accepted her silent invitation.

Rudely confronted by the actual reality of her fantasy walking directly towards her, she panicked. She had prayed he wouldn't move. But he did. She turned to go. One arm snaked about her waist, pulling her roughly against his chest. She felt his arousal. His heat burned into her thighs. He felt her nipples harden against the pressure of his forearm. His lips whispered against her neck, sending frissons of sexual excitement coursing through her body. His hand moved across her breast, creating an ache that was primal.

Her response shocked her. Thrilled her.

"_Art though not fatal vision…" _

"_Sensible to feeling as to… " _She lost her ability to speak, when he nipped her ear lobe.

He was rational enough to be somewhat surprised that she had recognized a quote from _MACBETH. _He turned her in his arms, intending to kiss her senseless. He didn't care that they were in public.

She tried to struggle, to force him to let her go. And then he almost did. But it was not a voluntary release for a Nausicaan had tried to rip her out of Picard's arms.

"_**MINE!" **_the Nausicaan roared, announcing her as his prize, as he started to drag her away.

"_**MINE!" **_Picard roared back, just as loudly. Picard would not let her go.

She reacted instinctually, her body remembering the two self-defense courses that Starfleet medical required interns to take.

She kicked with her spiked heel. It was ineffectual.

Her captor squeezed her breast. And that's when Beverly lost her temper.

Picard saw the look in her eye. And intuitively knew what she was going to do.

"_Mon Dieu, no!" _he yelled. But it might as well have been a whisper for all the heed that she paid him.

This time she raised her foot, braced her arms on Picard's shoulders, and kicked from underneath, spiking her high heel straight into the Nausicaan's balls.

The Nausicaan doubled over, screaming in pain. For a second, everyone in the bar stopped, looking around to see what could possibly be making such an earsplitting, agonized cry that was louder than the music.

And in that split second, time stopped. Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the _Stargazer, _a man who'd kept his emotions in check for decades, a man who'd always led with a cool-headed logic and wisdom far beyond his years, a man who was already a legendary icon of a Starfleet officer with an aloof reputation amongst all those who had ever worked with him, a man who'd valued his few close friends more deeply than they ever knew, and a man who'd loved his duty even more than his life, _**lost it**__. _

He fell in love with this woman. Irrevocably.

Then he became a man of action. Punches were already being thrown midst the bystanders. Since he had no inclination to fight a Nausicaan, a Nausicaan's warrior pack, their friends, and now half the bar, he acted swiftly. There was only one viable course of action. He threw the lady over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and ran straight up the wide, red marble staircase, heading for the back rooms that this kind of place always had.

She was fighting him all the way. Picard guessed that she didn't understand the danger of their situation. So he ignored her blows against his back and buttocks. He forced himself not to be distracted by the feel of the curves of her bottom cheeks squirming against his arm.

The hallways were crowded as everyone rushed forward to see the brawl churning down below. He put her down, kissed her briefly but with a stunning force, and then dragged her against the flow of the mob. He forced his way through, checking doorknobs until he found one that was open. The room was empty.

She really started battling him when he entered the room. She was swinging at him, trying to punch him wherever she could. Knowing that they only had a few seconds at best to disappear, he shoved her backwards onto the bed. He turned and locked the door.

She began throwing whatever she could grab at him, trying to get him to stop_ whatever he was intending to do to her. For he had to stop. She knew if he didn't stop, she wouldn't be able to stop if he touched her_.

She hit him with a large, old pillow. It broke open. Crumpled feathers flew. Then floated.

"_**STOP IT, YOU SILLY WOMAN!" **_he ordered in his best captain's voice. Then for good measure he braced a chair against the door.

It was the word _silly _that stilled her frantic actions. Beverly could genuinely not remember a time when anyone had ever called her _silly._

_**WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"**_ she yelled. "Are you drunk?"

"I never even had a chance to drink my beer…" He paused, and realized that he didn't know what to call her. "What's your name?"

"You think I'm going to tell you my name, you Tkonian Slaver! Go F…"

"_Red_." By the way she stiffened, he knew he'd guessed her nickname correctly.

She huffed, as she began to think that maybe he wasn't a slaver. Her voice was icy, as she inquired too politely, "Who are you? _Priapus?"_

The fire in his blood was abating - for the moment. And his sense of humor was surfacing as he picked off some of the feathers floating down upon them.

"I actually have been called that before. A long story." He sat down on the edge of the bed as far away from her as possible as if to alleviate her fears. Then, with all the command coolness he could muster he casually asked, "Listen you beautiful, _foolhardy_ goddess _- __**did not anyone ever warn you not to play with Nausicaans?"**_

Her hackles rose. "He attacked me!"

"The Nausicaan was posturing. Challenging me to arm wrestle him for your favors. It's the way that Nausicaans do things. But no, you had to enrage him - to provoke a fight. A fight, that if I had fought it, I would have lost. Then you would have belonged to the victor."

"I would never have allowed…" She saw his look of incredulity. "_We're on a Federation planet_."

"_We are in a bar in a part of Clarion, in a town where the gendarmes might arrive about an hour after the fight is over. _You would have disappeared probably for good, and I'd be either dead or in an infirmary somewhere getting my heart replaced again. I've fought Nausicaans before. That is why I had no intention of fighting them again. I choose to avoid such difficulties when possible."

"So why didn't you let me go? I didn't need a knight in shining armor. I could have taken care of myself, _Sir Gallahad_."

"I think not." He knew she resented his words. "I've had decades of self defense training, and the only time I would willingly go after a Nausicaan single-handedly is if I had a death wish. This evening, I am decidedly not suicidal."

She was not in such a snit that she didn't know he probably was right. _She was a doctor, not a fighter._

The door knob rattled.

"Perhaps we'd better go?" he suggested.

Beverly started thinking of all the troubles a cadet could get into for causing a brawl. _A big brawl_. "Yes."

"Discretion, then?"

She nodded, wondering exactly what he'd meant.

"Two to beam to the _Lucia di Lammermoor_ suite," Picard whispered into his comm badge. He pulled her into his arms. And they shimmered away arriving at the door to his suite, standing by a moonlit waterfall.

"Won't they be able to track where we went?"

"I don't think that the officials will care. We harmed nothing. We took nothing. No transaction was made."

"All right." She looked about. "So where are we?"

"My hotel."

She moved away from his embrace. He reluctantly let her go. "Do you have a comm badge with you?"

"No." She didn't want to admit to this man that she was on a student budget, and the luxury of having a civilian comm badge on a vacation planet like this was not in her budget.

He was quickly reassessing his estimation of her occupation. _For no professional escort would be without a comm badge. _She was not a lady for hire _which was a pity._ She was more than likely a student. Which meant that she was way too young for him. At that moment, he felt every minute of his forty-five years of age. And he sighed. He didn't realize that he'd sighed out loud.

She heard him. And she thought that he'd decided something about her. _And found her wanting…_

He took the comm badge out of his pocket. He offered it to her. "You can go wherever you wish. Just send the badge back to this suite when you get a chance. It's the…"

"I've read Sir Walter Scott. I'll remember the name of _The Bride of Lammermoor_ even if it is in Italian." Her words were edged with frost _for she had finally realized what he'd implied by stating that no transaction had been made._

He appreciated her classical literacy but wondered why she'd suddenly turned icy. He sought to make amends. "Your dancing truly moved me tonight." His expression softened as he remembered.

She noticed that he didn't specify which dance. But by the very tone of his voice, he was dismissing her. She really couldn't blame him. She obviously wasn't the company he was looking for on this moonlit night. Then she understood something else. _She didn't want to go._

"From Earth?" she politely inquired. She still hadn't touched his comm badge. "I was born on the moon." She was rambling, not really knowing what to say to him.

She was testing his patience.

"Go!" he ordered. "I'm in no mood for games tonight." He took a few steps away from her, then stared back at her, studying her in the moonlight as if he was trying to memorize everything about her. He knew he shouldn't ask it, _every brain cell he had warned that it was not the proper thing to say, _but he had a gambler's soul this night. His voice softened. "Or, _stay_."

She saw the desire in his eyes. She hadn't imagined it. Every nerve in her body danced, telling her what he really wanted from her. And the only thing her brain was telling her was that he had a sense of nobility. _And to run! _He had let her go. _But she could choose to stay_.

Her heart gave her the courage. "It can't be forever. I have plans for my life."

He chuckled. "I only have a few weeks on my own, too. My life does not belong to me either."

There was only one thing preventing her from leaping into his arms. "Married?"

He took a deep breath at that question. It was a fair one. It had been so long ago. "She died. Too young."

She took one step closer to him. "A few days out of time, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"Strangers in the dark? A fling? A few days lost to the world? I don't know you. You won't know me. We'll ignore our real lives for a while? We'll go home and only have the memories?" She knew she was babbling.

"If those are your demands in order for you to become my lover then yes, I willingly agree." He wanted her, and now, he wasn't even trying to hide it.

She felt stripped naked before him, as if he already knew every detail of her body. And he acted as if he knew how to send her into sexual oblivion with only a few touches. In an elemental way, he terrified her. _But it was a delicious kind of fear. She hungered for him. _

She then took the comm badge from his outstretched hand. He didn't bother to hide the disappointment on his face. And she subconsciously reveled in her power over him. She gave him a smile full of sinful promise. "Message to Harriet Vane, Donizetti House, number 22. Met a friend. Will be back in time for departure. Have fun. I will. _Red_."

She handed him back his comm badge.

_She knew she was delaying all her decisions. But this man - if he could tempt her by merely kissing her fingers, what did it say about her goals if she could so easily be distracted?. She had to face what all this meant_. But she'd do it later. _Much later_.

He pulled her into his arms. His body pressed against hers. His embrace told her so much about him. He was powerful. Physically fit. Sinewy muscles that could hold her hostage, if he so wished it. Beautiful eyes. _She wished she could see their color_. A strong chest to shelter her against the outside world. And a desire for her that tingled her every nerve. _No man had ever wanted her like this before. _A feeling came over her as if this was where she was supposed to be, _forever_. She twined her arms about his neck.

His first kiss was gentle. It was a polite introduction into what he hoped would soon become both social and sexual intercourse between them. He really didn't want to scare her away with his barely controlled raging needs.

She moved out of his arms and looked about. Moonlight danced on cascading pools of water. "I'd like to sit by the waterfall - later." She looked at the door.

Without being asked he swept her into his arms, then ordered the computer to open his carved front door.

Inside the large amber and tan living room with a fireplace in one wall, she looked about. The walls were sandstone with light sensitive crystal paneling throughout. It was luxurious. Tasteful. And obviously very expensive. Then she noticed the chilled wine and the variety of foods on the sideboard.

"What am I interrupting?"

"Nothing. I was planning on playing poker later on with some old friends."

"They won't come looking for you?"

He carried her into his bedroom. "Computer. Notify players that the game is cancelled. I'm incommunicado. I am not to be disturbed. Lock the doors."

He lowered her to his bed placing her on the silken grey spread as if she were the most precious of burdens.

Her laugh sounded nervous even to her ears..

He kissed her. It was a sweet kiss at first. Amazingly lovely. Comforting. With only a hint of what was to come. Almost hesitant, he touched his tongue to her lips, lightly outlining them. She felt the heat of him against her prophesying soon a conflagration. Pressing his weight harder against her yielding willingness, his tongue darted around into the sweet harbor of her mouth. "Please."

He stopped kissing her, giving her time to breathe again, to give her a chance to flee.

"Are you _sure_?"

"_No_."

She brushed her fingers against his cheek. She ruffled his hair. "But I don't want to stop." She gave herself up to the passion of his kiss. She welcomed him, tightening her arms around his back and using her own tongue to taunt over and around the invader swirling at the roof of her mouth. He withdrew and she followed. Probing, her tongue eagerly ventured into his mouth. Twirling and flicking, she teased the growing lust stirring within his body. His fingers explored her body, even as his lips fused to hers. _The heavenly pleasure of touching and being touched overwhelmed them both. _

It took a few minutes before Beverly came to realize he was searching for something more than her breasts. "Need help?" Her voice was more composed than she had thought possible under the circumstances.

Frustrated, he raised his head and caught the glint of amusement in her eyes. "How do you get this blasted dress off?" _So much for his legendary lover status._

"Let me show you." She slid away and then up from him. He sat on the edge of the bed, not willing to let her step too far away. He palmed her buttock.

"You can help," she whispered, before she leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

She thrust her breasts deliberately close to his mouth. He touched her left breast with a finger, searching for her nipple. He brushed it, and then lifted the nipple to the taut fabric so that he could nip it through the silk. She held him close to her as he kissed her breast. She bent her head, kissing his head again. She could have stayed this way forever, safe in his arms if her desires weren't demanding something more.

She backed away then and knelt between his legs, facing him.

"Under the back of the collar," she whispered, as she rested her head on his thigh. His hand found the instant zipper. He touched it and watched as the zipper moved down her back. She stood. For a moment she just stared at him, as if trying to decide what to do next. She stepped backwards and shimmied. The silk started sliding off her body. He reached over and tugged until it puddled about her feet as a copper pool.

Placing his arms about her waist, he pressed kisses on her stomach and felt her tremors against his lips. Slowly he removed the last barrier to her flesh - her scarlet lace panties. His fingers traced circling paths about her hips and thighs. His warm breath heated her skin. But though he looked, he had yet to breach her most private parts. He wanted to explore her in every way before she opened her thighs to him.

But she had the impatience of youth. She was too needy to wait. She slid down his body to land on her knees. Then she bent backwards to display her naked breasts to him in silent invitation. Carefully he brushed a finger against her nipple. It sprang to attention.

Something shifted within him. He no longer was about to suggest patience, for she had just inspired him.

For a moment he just looked, exploring every inch of her with his eyes, expertly critiquing her body. Everything was perfect. The size of her breasts, the nipples already hardening under his glance, the red curls that hid her secrets. It was a body promising intense erotic delights and she was offering it all to him.

"Touch me." It was the most erotic plea of her life.

Almost reverently, he placed his hand on her right breast, slowly massaging it, feeling her nipple harden. Silken flesh flowed under his fingers. He scissored her nipple, and saw how much she responded.

But she grew frustrated. "I'm not a goddess…"

She pulled him into a hot kiss, maneuvering so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. She wanted to feel all of his body against hers again.

He stood and offered her his hand, helping her up. He pulled her into a passionate embrace, then realized that while she was naked in his arms, he was not.

"You've bewitched me, _mon coeur…"_

"I would rather have you naked," she suggested.

"Your wish is my command."

She reclined on the bed as she watched him undress. She rather appreciated what she observed as her personal inspection matched the intensity of his. The professional side of her nature decided that he was a fine specimen of a man. Maybe he was even the finest that she'd ever known.

In a moment he was by her side. Low moans rolled up from her throat as his lips moved down the long sensitive arch of her neck to the valley between her breasts.. Lightly kissing, he took control of her body. He had to kiss her nipples, worship them, tickle them. And to try to bring her almost to orgasm as he suckled them.

"Make love to me," she pleaded.

He loomed over her bracing himself on his arms. He bent his lips to her breast again.

But that wasn't what she wanted. "Please." She moved her body under him. "Please," she sighed, wrapping her long legs around his hips. She nudged his cock with her vulva. "I need you now." Her hand moved to touch him, to assess his length and width, to stroke him and then to guide him into her channel.

He would never deny a lady's request. He slowly entered her, moving an inch. He stirred a little, brushing against her clitoris. He moved a little more into her.

She opened her eyes to look into his. And seemed to understand why he was making her wait.

"Our first time?"

"Must be savored," he replied, as he bent his head to hers. He kissed her with all the passion in his soul. Her heat equaled his. She was becoming lightheaded. His kisses were dizzying for in her entire life she'd never felt this wanton before_. Such a great desiring._

He hilted himself in her. She was tight. _She was exquisite._ Her muscles were clenching him, massaging him. She groaned deeply under the full-powered impalement of his sex.

He completely pulled out of her warmth, caught her gaze again, and then lunged. This time with vigor. Her lips formed a silent "Oh". He took this as a sign to invade her mouth again, matching his tongue's strokes to that of his manhood. His pelvis jerked forward, sinking his length into her liquid warmth. A few more strong strokes, and her orgasm blasted through her. She hadn't been expecting it. Not this quickly. _It was mind-boggling._

He stopped his movement, fascinated as he watched her face exposing her coming. Her passion was a revelation to him. When she was calmer, he began a slower, steadier pace, moving in and out of her sheath. His cock glided into her, eased by the slickness that they'd made.

Her eyes were wide open now watching him. She wondered how he could possibly think that she could take much more of this pleasure. Yet her body was following him toward his path to gratification. The swollen shaft of his prick repeatedly drove in, slamming its satisfying fullness into her body. She moaned under the heavy impact and whimpered as her throbbing sheath begged for more. She became lost in the sensations, now clinging to him as he changed his rhythm. He lay on her now. He was between her legs, captured by her thighs, thrusting with a rising vigor. He began to feel his rapture approach. And he sped up his movements, ramming her now, reaching for the heavenly ecstasy that she promised. He was not disappointed. Seconds later she was quivering underneath him.

"Don't go…" she weakly whispered as he moved as if to leave her body. "Stay awhile."

"Forever," he silently promised.

She pulled up the covers that they'd pushed aside in their lovemaking, then rested her head on his chest. "That was _remarkable_…"

"Yes, it was." He kissed her temple. _Remarkable - such a tame word for such joyous abandon…_

She slept for a while in his arms.

He held her, content. It was an rare feeling for him. Still, he was thinking. This woman was a puzzlement. He'd had lovers before. He had enjoyed every one of them. And he was egotistical enough to think that they'd felt likewise. _But his Muse was different. _His _Muse _was a wanton with him, yet she still had an innocence about her - an inexperience he found charming. And something that he could cure quite easily if she permitted it. To his mind, the lovers she had known before had been mere boys who knew little about the joys of expertly loving a woman. He would show her what it was like to be his lover. He knew her time with him would be short. Yet, she had already become _essential to him_. He was discovering that he didn't just desire sex with her. He desired sex, _but only with her. He was going to find a way to keep her, even if it meant negotiating his soul away to Starfleet._

She stirred.. And was delighted to discover that he still held her close. When he made no move to touch her, she chose option number two. "I'm hungry," she announced as she slid out of bed, in search of food.

He followed her. "Would you like a shirt or a robe?" He was only trying to put her at ease.

"Would you?" Her grin was wicked.

And he just laughed, as he had no need for any clothing either.

A few minutes later they were picnicking on the silken rug in front of the fireplace, resting against a couch. "I love firelight," she whispered, leaning into his shoulder. "The popping and the crackling. It's always fascinated me. Made me feel safe."

He fed her a bit of toast covered with melted raclette. "_Croute au fromage_," he announced. After one bite, she greedily reached for the entire slice of toast.

"_Pinot Girs," _he added, as he handed her his glass. She took a sip, then her eyes widened.

Now it was his turn to be surprised. "You've never had fine wine and cheese before?"

"Not on my budget."

"Then let me show you more." He was finding his role as teacher to be quite enjoyable.

He waited until their repast was finished, before she seduced him again. This time, she rode him in front of the fireplace. She was totally in control, concentrating only on him, focusing on how his body was joining with hers. His stamina was thrilling. And the way he moved was showing her something new with every thrust.

He watched her, somewhat overwhelmed by her pale beauty. Her carnality. There was a flame in her that outshone any firelight. He could not remember any women he'd ever known having this intense depth of desire for him. She instinctually knew how to torment him. How to bring him to the brink of orgasm, and then stop, leaving him gasping for her. Then she was calming, and reviving him again. She had experienced two orgasms already. _And they'd been spectacularly beautiful to behold. _Now the way she was riding him suggested she was working toward her third orgasm, perhaps again without him. He'd have to see about that.

He raised his head, searching for her breast. And when he'd captured her nipple with his teeth, she stopped, focusing solely on this touch. His fingers moved toward her other nipple to rub it, then lightly pinch it with his thumb and forefinger. Then he rolled the nipple, helping it stand out. He reversed the position. He sucked. He felt her twitching with this additional stimulation. Her vaginal muscles were clamping him, demanding his surrender. He trailed hot kisses up the curve of her neck, then to her lips. He sat upright and embraced her, twining his legs under hers, pressing her against his hips. They were sitting upright, two lovers intimately coupled embracing the wonderment of their joining, and the miraculous discovery of each other.

And then they were still. For a time serene. They were motionless for minutes as they just held each other, absorbing the scent, the touch, the sighs and the breath of each other. He looked at her as if he were searching for every secret of her soul in her sapphire eyes. She felt lost in the stormy grey sea of his gaze but dared not look away. She'd never understood the dominating power of the flesh before until this very second. How this eternal force could strip away all rational thought with just a firing of the senses._ But it only had happened with him._

Finally he moved, brushing his lips against hers. Then he waited. She moved closer to him and pressed a kiss against his lips, rubbing her breasts against his chest. Her fingers stroked their joining, lightly touching. He opened his mouth to her, sensing something new in their lover's kiss. And then the dam broke.

He kissed her with a raging passion, suddenly needing her with an intensity of desire that would later astonish him, for he'd never felt this way before about any woman. And her desire matched his. In every stroke. In every moan. In every kiss. _They were equals_. His mind would only recognize this fact at another time.

_He had to pleasure her again. _He moved rubbing her clitoris with his thumb and then with his hardness. Then he stopped. He held her close as her orgasm flooded through her. Wave after wave of soul-shattering pleasure broke over her, deluging her body with heretofore unknown marvelous sensations.

He rolled swiftly, lowering her onto her back. He gave no mercy. He pounded her flesh. He was lost in the taking of her body's succor. She could only hold on to this raging force, following wherever he led. And when his ecstasy raged through him, this rush was extraordinary. _He was addicted to her. He needed her now and forever._

Beverly could barely breathe as he collapsed on top of her. Her mind was finding it hard to believe what had just happened. She couldn't call it an orgasm. _It was a revelation. If she died now, it would be a happy death._

"Incredible," he muttered against her ear, as he regained a bit of his control. He was sated, and judging by the way she was clinging to him, it was mutual.

She held him against her sweating body, reveling in the sensation; rejecting any thought of letting him go. "I love the way you feel against me, my Gallahad. The way we love. Don't ever leave me."

"Never…," he promised. This time he said it aloud.

For a while, he held her, studying her face by firelight, tracing the planes of her face with his finger. He had a feeling that he would remember this night for the rest of his life. And he would remember this woman always. Eventually, he rolled to his side, and pulled her into his arms as they slept.

Up in a dark corner, Q floated on an Oriental carpet. A ruby red bokhara to be precise. He was enjoying his observations. He'd always wondered what Beverly Howard would be like in a lover's clinch. But the captain that she had chosen, _he had been the surprise. _Q knew that he should be ending this tryst very soon. But, considering how much in love they were, he decided to permit them a few extra days of lovemaking. _He might actually learn something more, considering the way this Starfleet officer mated. For he'd done sexual things that Q had never thought of doing…_

About an hour later, she rose, went to the bathroom, then sat on the ivory sofa in front of the fireplace, and studied the man who had led her into such temptation. He had given her the most intense pleasure of her life. He was addictive, a drug she couldn't refuse. No man should have that kind of power over her.

_But did he? What was she doing here? Having a last fling before committing to Jack? Or choosing a new future? She had thought that she'd loved Jack. But could she really love Jack, if she were so eager to fuck someone else? And this man was an extraordinary lover. She knew that she was out of her depth with him. If she stayed here, he might show her too much, so that she could never go back to the life she'd known before._

She hadn't noticed that he was awake, so he didn't move. He studied her too. And he knew that she was thinking, trying to come to some decisions. About him. And her life. He couldn't permit her to choose a life without him. _He wouldn't give her up._

It took her a while to notice that he was now watching her. "I like the view," he remarked marveling at how she looked with her red gold hair a splendid tangle about her shoulders, the firelight highlighting the soft flesh that he would soon kiss again.

"I'm a mess," was her response.

"Never." But then he considered how much of a mess he was. Their lovemaking had been sweaty and elemental. A thought crossed his mind. And his loins.

She already knew his expressions well enough to know that whatever it was he was planning would be wonderfully wicked. She encouraged him, holding out her arms to him. He swept her up into his arms.

"Computer. Privacy shield," he ordered. "We can see out, but no one can see in," he explained, as he carried her outside. "Your bath awaits." Then he gleefully dropped her into the pool at the base of the cascading waterfall.

She squealed as she fell. She sputtered when she came to the surface. "How do you know I can swim?"

"The pool is only 1.5 meters deep."

"Help me out," she politely asked. However, he still didn't know her well enough to know that her enticing smile was a sign that he should now be very, very wary.

He held out his hand.

She merrily yanked him in head first. Now he was sputtering in the cool water .

"Why, you…," he spluttered.

She dove and pinched something sensitive, gliding her fingers between his legs then tweaking his cheek.

"Minx!" he shouted as he tried to grab her.

She laughed as she slid through his fingers, swimming like a mermaid, with decidedly more skill than he had for aquatic sports.

Then she introduced him to her version of lover's tag. He reached for her. She swam under him and brushed his manhood before moving out of reach. He soon caught on to the rules of the game. She might be the better swimmer, but he understood battle tactics far better than she did. And he applied them to her.

He managed to tweak a breast before she splashed water in his face. He let go of her breast, and received a spank for his efforts then a pinch. He climbed upon a rock, and waited. "Come and get what you want, you flame haired witch…"

She found something very interesting to grab, and tugged him into the pool. When he rose to the surface, he yelled, "No Fair!" And he was laughing without restraint. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Then he went in search of something more interesting to capture. He caught her with her back to him. He pulled her very close, and gave her proof as to how aroused he was. Then he tickled her. She broke away laughing.

Outside the privacy barrier, a very embarrassed Woody Nakamura stood still. They hadn't seen him. But he had heard enough. And he remembered the stories he'd heard earlier in the evening about a red haired woman who had challenged a Nausicaan at the Blue Tattoo, and the balding man who had rescued her.

He was also relieved, for based on what he had just heard, Jean-Luc Picard was finally having a helluva really good shore leave. Playing with a woman like that was something that the captain of the _Stargazer_ would never do. Jean-Luc had converted back into being just a lusty man again. It was something that Jean-Luc really needed. And something that he had rarely been doing during his long years as captain.

Woody decided to find out who the woman was that could make Picard laugh like that. Maybe he could find a way to keep her around for his friend. _For Woody worried about his friend. Picard had yet to learn that one had to be a man as well as a captain, in order to be a successful captain. _He slipped away, glad that Picard hadn't noticed him.

Picard finally captured her, and enacted his revenge. He positioned her on a ledge behind the waterfall, trapping her hands under her bottom. She wasn't trying too hard to work herself free. For she was anticipating whatever it was that he was going to do.

"Computer, Aram Khachaturian, _Spartacus, Adagio_," he ordered.

She looked at him in amazement.

He leaned over her, and whispered, "Have you ever danced this _pas de deux?" _

"No." She placed tiny kisses down his nose. "You're a _balletomane_?" She nipped him.

"I am now, because of you." He pulled her closer.

"I'm not a professional dancer…"

"_Au contraire. _I am paying a very high personal price for your _dancing. _I think I'll be willingly paying…"

The music started, silencing the captain. Picard had chosen some of the most passionate music ever written for lovers. And he was determined to share it with her.

He was so very skilled. He intended only to pleasure her. She could only mindlessly sough as he moved down her body, worshiping her. His lips didn't miss an inch. Her breasts, her arms, her bellybutton, the crease of her thighs - he would explore all of her flesh.

And then he knelt. With gentle touches he traced his thumbs against her labia, spreading the flesh open for his experienced tongue.

His first touch electrified her. She had never felt this kind of sexual rush before. It was awe-inspiring. And glorious. And then he kept driving her higher to plateaus that only this night had she begun to sense exist. He explored and tickled, licked and sucked. By the time he'd rubbed his nose against her sensitive button, she'd come to realize that all the theoretical anatomical knowledge in the world didn't come close to the reality of his touch. She was well and truly lost.

And then he started nibbling and stroking with a flat tongue. He suckled her nub. She couldn't contain herself. Higher and higher she soared. She couldn't stop coming…

She was still peaking when he lowered her onto his cock, then thrust into her. Part of her brain realized that he was now moving to the tempo of the music. He lifted her into his arms now, to hold her, to ravage her mouth, her body. She floated in his arms clinging to him, her long legs wrapped about his hips. Their performance moved with the soaring notes of the Adagio. She shattered when he came, her orgasms continuing through his. She was boneless. So was he. Yet he still could stroke her down from their highs even as the music slowly ended. He was the victor. She was his captive.

He held her in his arms as they rested, watching the dawn break. There came a time when he casually pointed out the various morning stars, calling them by name, as they floated. Every once in a while, he ordered a change in the water temperature. He was too comfortable to move. And he suspected that his goddess felt the same way too.

Eventually she found the toiletries, and started to wash her hair. He moved up behind her and did it for her. He wasn't trying to seduce her again, but she wanted him anyway.

"We're shriveling," she noticed.

"I achieved that state thanks to you, my lady."

She smiled at her new memories. "We can make more memories in a little while. Unless you have something else to do today?"

"I thought that maybe we should go out to dinner tonight. Maybe a little dancing."

"You mean a date?" She floated around to face him.

"I find it difficult to have a discussion with you when your beautiful breasts are bobbing so close to me." He caressed one breast lightly, lingering for a moment. "But yes, I'd like to take you out for the evening."

"Yes, there is something to be said for anticipation," she agreed. She couldn't help but watch him as he climbed out of the pool. He was comfortable with his nakedness. More so, than any other man she'd ever known. He pulled her up too, and found a towel, carefully drying her off.

"I have nothing to wear," she observed sighing over the thought of what had happened to her beautiful copper sheath. She hoped it could be cleaned. She loved that dress now even more than before. "I suppose I could go back to my room…"

"Let me pick something out for you."

She was well aware of the difference in their class status. And their finances. When she'd come to Clarion, she'd been sharing a rented dorm room with three other friends. That sparse bunk bed was a far cry from the sybaritic lifestyle of this man. She didn't realize that this hotel suite was an indulgence for him. For normally, he led an ascetic life, in sparse surroundings.

He sensed her hesitancy. "I just wish to give you a gift, my lady. From one lover to another. No strings."

"Ever?"

He had the good graces to be embarrassed. "I may have misjudged you for a few minutes. Your beauty blinded my common sense."

"You don't know me."

"I know enough." He ran a finger lightly over her nipple. "I will learn more." His teeth followed his finger, nipping as he caressed her breast.

His intensity made her nervous. He was no longer talking as if he was a starship passing in the night. She didn't dare try to reconcile him with her reality. Every moment with him convinced her she had no future part in his world._ But her wayward heart beat with crazy hope._

He carried her into the house, and sat her down on the floor in front of the fireplace. He got a brush from the replicator, sat on the sofa, and then leaned her against his legs as he insisted on drying her hair.

She teased him about wanting to remember what it was like to have long hair to brush, for she didn't mind his balding spot. And he warned her that he would find a suitable punishment for her scurrilous words. They shared their laughter.

Jean-Luc idly tried to remember the last time he'd laughed this much especially with a woman. He could rarely recollect being with a woman who had such an appealing sense of humor before.

She turned between his legs to face him. With an impious smile, she began to lick his prick, trying to rouse him one more time. He leaned back, enjoying her ministrations, yet somewhat surprised by her seeming inexperience in this type of loving though her enthusiasm was stimulating. She was learning, though. And he wondered if he should teach her more of the sensual arts. He slid down onto the silk rug, positioning her so that her legs straddled his head. He placed soft kisses on the inside of her thighs. She was unsure, confused. He slapped her fanny. "Pay attention to your business, _mon coeur_. Follow me. We'll be doing this as one."

He spread her legs, and touched the tip of his tongue to her mons veneris, lightly outlining her lips. He heard her gasp. And then he felt her mouth sucking him again. He repaid the favor. And led this dance sensing how new this position too, was to her. But she was learning how to balance her body on top of him, how to match her kisses to his, and how to suck. He smiled to himself as she pleasured him. And he pleasured her. Their grateful bodies heaved and trembled in the wake of their passion. He pulled her to his side, calming her trembling with his hands. With tender love, their mouths met and kissed in silent thanks for the pleasure that they'd shared. They both were exhausted.

It was a magnificent kind of exhaustion, one that he hadn't experienced in years. Yet, with this flame haired witch, it felt different, too. He didn't question the gods. He carried her to their bed.

They slept. He was used to starship time. Day or night, it didn't matter to him. And after a year of being an intern, Beverly too, had learned to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was yet one more way they were compatible.

He held her close in his arms, as if he were protecting her. Cherishing her. She felt safe.

When she finally regained consciousness, their king sized bed was empty. There was a note and a single red rose on the bed table. Before she opened it, she smiled, pressing the envelope to her lips. For she was alone, and with his terminal. Only a few calls would supply answers for all of her questions. But he was trusting her. She opened her note, and then cursed, impolitely. It was written in French. She'd have to use the computer to translate it. Then she had another thought. She used the terminal to contact a friend.

"Red, where the hell are you? Did you get kidnapped by an Andorian slaver or something?"

"Something like that, Harriet. I highly recommend it."

"Wearing his blue shirt, Hmmm?" Harry teased.

"First thing I could get my hands on," Bev explained. "I need your help to translate something in French."

"Wow, this is getting better and betterer."

Beverly read the contents of the note. "_Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas…"_

Harriet giggled. "Red, you really do know how to pick them. What a last fling you're having." She didn't notice the sorrow in Beverly's eyes over that thought.

"_Let my kisses be the words of love that I don't say,"_ Harry translated. "You end up with a romantic Frenchman on your shore leave. Me? I've just got my guide book to keep me warm."

Promising to be ready to leave in three days, Beverly signed off.

From the shadows he watched her. He'd just walked to the hotel lobby to make certain arrangements. And then he'd done a little shopping on the side.

Now, as he watched her say goodbye to her friend, he finally knew how much time he really had with _Red. And that he could trust her. _He knew she had many questions, but she respected him enough to wait for him to tell her in his own good time. He was grateful to her.

"Red," he called out as he came into the living room from the side entrance.

She greeted him with laughter And then kissed him with earnestness. For she had taken the words from his love note and incised them into her heart.

Laughing back at her, he swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the bathroom.

"Put me down. I'm too heavy!"

He only looked at her and chuckled, considering how many times he'd already carried her in his arms. "Nonsense_, mon coeur_. We'll have a quick shower, and then get dressed for our date."

She slid out of his shirt, and turned in his arms, entwining her arms about his neck. "I know we have enough time for you to scrub my back, but do we have enough time for what I intend to do to you? I've been told that my touch can be very _stimulating._"

He considered the look in her eye. "I can always change the reservation to tomorrow night."

"Might be a wise idea…" She started nibbling. "I'm not hungry for food at the moment." She gave him a quick demonstration of what she intended to do to him in the shower. He quickly stripped, before dragging her into it. She wouldn't let him touch her. This time, it was all about her pleasuring him.

She shoved him down onto a marble bench inside a shower that could best be described as decadent. Pool basins, multiple shower heads and water sources, and temperature controls. It was the height of luxury in aqua and teal sandstone and marble.

Kneeling before him, she explored his body. She just looked him over. It was the first time her blood was calm enough for her to minutely inspect him. Jean-Luc willingly submitted to the most erotic examination he'd ever known. She glanced down and studied the thick pole shafting out toward her. Gently, with loving care, she reached out and tenderly ran her fingertips down its unbending length. It throbbed and pulsed with virile life beneath her touch. Her breath blew on his tip. He was as aroused as he'd ever been in his life.

But she was in no hurry to give him comfort just yet. She wanted to torture him. And she most definitely was learning how to do it. She was learning where to lick, to bite, to tickle and to kiss. And then to suck. For a while, he was falling into heaven. It took every ounce of his determination to refocus on her. Close to his orgasm, he tried to stop her. For he had other intentions. But she would have none of it. She wanted him this way. And when his pleasuring was finished, he pulled her into his arms and just held her, replete. He silently thanked her for her comfort. He hadn't demanded it of her. But he was coming to understand what kind of woman she really was. She tried to play fair in everything. And to him, that was a major, important revelation.

He stood and offered her his hand, lifting her up from the bench. "Shall we take a shower?" She nodded. He swept her up into his arms and walked into the bath, carefully placing her on a padded bench, face down.

He found some bath oil, and started massaging her back. Then her buttocks. The backs of her thighs. Her arches. And every other inch of flesh that he could reach. He lingered over sensitive flesh, knowing that she had to be sore. Yet she didn't stop his fingers from searching; plunging. When she started pleading for more, he picked her up and positioned her, bracing her against the bath wall. He took her from behind. Surging into her warm channel with pounding strokes that were hard and furious. She cried out. Lunging, thrusting, drilling and spearing his cock lashed in and out of her body. He came too, exploding as the white-hot light of passion flared, throwing him into the heights of ecstasy.

Beverly eventually got around to washing her hair again. He took his time in toweling her dry. She did the same to him. This time, they were really exhausted. He replicated turquoise cloth robes for both of them.

They ate a quiet dinner listening to music, quietly talking about nothing and everything important. Then she made the mistake of mentioning the _Prime Directive._ The debate that followed was exhilarating. For though their arguments were purely theoretical, she kept winning points against him. Which completely took him by surprise. _His ego took a hit, but his heart did not. For part of him was in awe of her now. He'd become too accustomed to his ways, his old arguments. She was teaching him to again consider other possibilities._

They both discovered that anger was a potent aphrodisiac. And its aftermath was extraordinary.

When she had the energy, she moved up her lover's body and rested on top of him. She tapped him on the nose and smiled. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"If our every argument ends this way, I'll have to pick a fight with you more often," he whispered.

She laughed. "You called our little debate an argument? You haven't seen me get really angry. And if you're wise, you never will."

"Forewarned is forearmed, eh?"

She stood and winced. Then she blushed, for he understood why she was sore. He'd done it to her.

He walked away from her and returned with a medi-kit. Quietly, he asked, "May I help?"

"I've used a medi-kit before," she whispered, as she took the kit from his hands.

When she returned, he handed her a plush robe. He was wearing one again, as well.

"The honeymoon is over," she sighed with great exaggeration. She slipped the robe on.

"I'm not a randy cadet anymore, _mon coeur. _I need to recoup. I fear I am too old for you."

She stepped up to him and fingered the cowl to his robe. "I'm not a randy young girl either, my Gallahad. And from my point of view," she leaned against him and whispered, "…everything about you is just right. If you were a nineteen-year-old, I don't think I would be alive." She grinned then quickly kissed his cheek. "I think we both need time for our bodies to recuperate."

When they were calmer, she took a chance and challenged him to a game of chess. She'd correctly guessed that he played.

After the first game, she knew she had to come up with something to distract him. The way he was watching her, and knowing her dilemma, made her suspect that he was hoping that she'd start exposing some flesh for these hotel robes covered _everything._ She tried a different tactic. She quoted Shakespeare. And dared him to cite the reference.

By the end of the second chess game that he still won, he'd misidentified two of her quotes, but she had accurately cited the answer to every one of his quotations. Then it dawned on him. _She wasn't just a dancer - she was an actress. A classically trained Shakespearean actress. _

"You flame-haired witch. You've memorized all the plays!"

She laughed. "Not all of them and not every scene. But if there's a good role for a woman, I've acted it. I've been in Community Theatre since I was a teenager."

He won their third game. But he had to concede that she was clever, and managed to hold her own against him. She instinctively understood the strategies of chess as well as the tactical use of unorthodox gambits. With a little tutelage, she'd be close to his equal. With a lot of instruction, she'd probably beat him.

Then he reminded her that to the victor went the spoils of war, and that she had to do everything he wanted. She obeyed every one of his erotic requests. Then demonstrated a few more that he hadn't thought of. Later that night, they slept, tired. And sated.

The next day was more of the same - playing and loving and talking. Beverly had never known such a time. She regretted that this was a lost weekend for it did feel more like a honeymoon. They didn't make it to dinner that day either. But they did, on their final day.

When it was time to get ready to go out, he casually placed a garment bag across the foot of their pewter silk bed spread. "I hope that this will be acceptable."

Presents had been few and far between in Beverly's life. She eyed the dress bag with excited anticipation. _For what he'd chosen for her would speak volumes about his taste, and what he thought of her. _

She carefully opened the bag and lifted up the contents. In it was a long evening gown, in royal blue silk velvet. Spaghetti straps trimmed with rhinestones, criss-crossed the heart shaped bodice. The dress had an A line design, flowing from the fitted bodice, down to a glorious sweep of a skirt. It was the perfect dress for dancing. _And it was beautiful. Sophisticated yet sexy. And the color of her eyes. _She assumed that the lack of a back to the dress was for Sir Gallahad's benefit. He also provided a matching evening bag, and high heeled sandals. _He clearly wasn't bothered by her height. And she fell in love with him all over again._

"It's perfect." She stroked the fabric, surprised by its unique sinuous softness. "Surely the hotel boutique didn't have something like this?"

She looked up at him, and then realized that he'd been nervous about her reaction to his gift. _He wasn't that confident all the time. He still wasn't that sure of her. Her heart melted some more._

"No, they didn't. But they did know where to get it." He saw the way she was caressing the dress. "It's silk. You should always be draped in silk."

She thought of her scrubs, envisioning them in silk. She smiled to herself.

He left her then to dress.

Once she put the gown on, she was delighted with the way it flowed. It was the supplest velvet she'd ever worn. What amazed her even more was that her bejeweled sandals were a perfect fit. She found the sapphire wisp of silk that apparently was the only underwear he wished her to wear. He had thought of everything. And somehow arranged it. And considering what the past days had been like, it was just one more overwhelming thing that he'd done.

He didn't say a word as he watched her fix her hair into an upsweep, for though he preferred her hair down, he did consider how much he would enjoy releasing her hair, later on. He knew the feel of her silken strands would haunt him forever.

She had replicated everything that she'd needed to get ready. And he was trying to recollect the last time he'd had a lady's toiletries strewn about his rooms. It had been a while.

She saw him in the mirror. He was wearing a tuxedo, in a deep navy blue. He looked so dignified. Handsome. And was from a world so far removed from her own, that they should have been using universal translators to communicate.

She took his breath away.

_She'd been stunning as a Muse. Magnificent as a temptress. Beguiling as a mermaid. But now - the way she looked. He was without words. She took his breath away. _

She smiled.

He stood before her, mesmerized. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, my lady…"

She blushed. He lightly touched her cheek then kissed the palm of her hand. He perused her. "Ah, but something is missing."

Beverly quickly glanced in the mirror. She couldn't see anything obvious that was missing.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case, opening it up to reveal a pair of simple emerald cut blue stones with a blue star sapphire tear drop at the base. The colors matched her dress. _And her eyes. _And thinking that they were replicated stones, she didn't have a problem with accepting them. But it would be decades before she learned that all the stones to her dress and her jewelry were real blue diamonds and star sapphires. Not fakes.

"Perfect," he remarked as he stepped away, to study her yet again._ He didn't mention the matching star sapphire set with blue diamonds that he'd had made into a ring for her. That was a gift for another time._

"Perfect," she agreed, as she studied him as well. She offered him her arm.

"Shall we?" He wound his arm through hers, handing her the evening bag.

A moment later they beamed over to the most exclusive restaurant and night club on Clarion, the Centauri Room.

It was everything that Jean-Luc Picard would have expected of an expensive, lauded restaurant.

Beverly, on the other hand, had never quite seen anything like it before. On the surface she presented herself with her most sophisticated facade, but inside, she was a tourist from Caldos. She was looking at everything from the shimmering chandeliers to the floating star candles, to the opulence of the silver to black décor. It was almost Art Deco in style with many mirrored accents including a black mirrored dance floor. She was excited. They were immediately escorted to their table, on the second level of a semi-circle whose center was the orchestra and the dance floor.

He somehow knew that she was impressed with his choice even though she wasn't obvious about it.

He was pleased with her. His heart had been blinded by love in his passion for her, but he was glad that his intellectual side could acknowledge her as well. He had found his ideal woman, in all ways.

He picked a Château Picard White Bordeaux, the '26 for their wine. And he then proceeded to order their appetizers.

"How nice," she informed the waiter who then left. That's when she kicked him underneath the table cloth.

He was startled._ How could he have forgotten that she liked to kick…_

"Might I not order for myself?" she too-politely asked. "After all, you have no idea if I am allergic to Bajoran shrimp, or Briglodian caviar, do you?" She had a point to make and she made it.

He was beginning to learn when she was displeased. And how he had unwittingly overstepped his bounds.

"I am sorry. I presumed too much, didn't I?"

"Yes." Her eyes glittered with some sort of emotion.

She was clearly expecting more from him. He searched for more words. "_And I will never do it again_?" he added.

"You're learning." She nodded her approval.

And then he started chuckling. "I must never take anything for granted with you, my lady."

"I would be displeased if you did. I'm not Galatea, you know. All of this may be new to me, and I may be impressed, but it is only to be enjoyed. It isn't what is really important to me."

He took her hand and kissed the pulse point of her wrist. "Forgive me?" She pressed a kiss against his cheek. And then his lips. When he straightened up, he saw their waiter approach with their wine. He asked, "What would you like for our entrée?"

"You choose," she answered.

His low laughter could be heard several rows away. He selected that which he thought would please her. _Vichyssoise, Sole a la Grenoblois_, a simple salad of spring greens, and a _chocolat gateau _for desert.

From several tiers away, a startled Admiral Winston Holt Wiley observed his captain with the lady. He hadn't known that Picard could laugh like that. After dinner, he'd meet the lady who had caused such a sound coming from his most austere of captains.

They watched several stage shows as they ate their dinner. There was a chanteuse with a sultry voice, and a dance act that Beverly found enjoyable. She was pointing out to her lover all the styles that were in the routine, and how difficult they were to do.

"Are you a professional dancer?" He chose to delve.

Beverly now had to consider how to proceed. She had enjoyed this time of theirs with no past or future - when she could focus only on the present. But now she had to face her realities. "No. I'm not a professional dancer. I would have liked to have become one, but, to tell the truth, I am too tall."

"Nonsense. Your partners were too short, that is all."

He loved the sound of her laughter.

The waiter came to remove their plates.

"So, who are you?"

"I'm the man falling in love with you," was his simple non-answer. Her breath caught before she screamed with frustration. He stood and asked, "Shall we dance?"

Hesitantly, she took his hand. This was a major test in their relationship for her. Could they dance together? She blushed as she had a flashback to their intimate _pas de deux_ in the pool. But this was different. You could learn so much about your partner on a dance floor. Now, she wondered if she really needed to know it.

Her head was already whirling from his use of the word _love._ She instinctively knew that it was a word that he never used casually. _Her heart was singing her reply._

The orchestra specialized in archaic music. They were playing a slow dance called _True Love._

He was smiling, as if he was pleased with the orchestra's choice. He swept her into his arms, as they swirled onto the dance floor.

His hand gently pressed against the small of her back as he guided her. She quickly came to realize that the missing back to her dress wasn't just for his benefit alone. She shivered in his arms from his touch.

"You dance very well," she murmured.

"Thanks to my _granmere_. She insisted that I learn the social niceties when I was a child."

"You're a little rusty," she casually remarked, wondering if he would take the bait.

"If you'd met the ladies with whom I've been forced to dance over the past few years, you would be rusty too. Ambassador's wives, admiral's daughters, politicians; all that would try any sane man's patience."

She just let the music move her as she deduced that he must be a diplomat. That would explain everything about him. She relaxed and followed him wherever he led. Though she did tease him, with a brush of a breast here, a touch of a thigh there, and an occasional naughty suggestion whispered into an ear.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself. _And then he prayed that the gods would not demand too great a recompense for granting him such happiness. _

When the waltz was over, he escorted her back to the table for their desert.

Waiting for them at the table was Admiral Wiley.

She heard him curse _Merde!_ under his breath. He clearly did not want to see this man.

The Admiral shook Jean-Luc's hand. "Good to see you, Captain. It's been a long while."

"Yes, Admiral."

The admiral pointedly glanced at Beverly.

Picard stiffened, as he began to search for the right words to introduce the lady.

She saved him by being bold. She shook the Admiral's hand. "I'm best known as _Red_, Sir. Though the _Captain_ has been known to call me by other names." Her grin was saucy, as if she were unimpressed by the man's status.

"Known each other long?" Wiley politely inquired.

"Yes, and no." She batted her eyelashes and presented to the admiral her most glamorous, teasing, sexy smile. "I feel as if I've known _Sir Gallahad _here, forever, though in reality, it's only been a few too many days. He does have a way with Nausicaans though."

Wiley thought that she was being witty.

Picard was simply impressed by her quick thinking.

A waiter intruded with the iced '37 Château Picard champagne. Picard saw a way out of this awkward situation. "Admiral, may I send a bottle of my champagne over to your table?"

"Why of course, Jean-Luc. I'd be delighted."

Admiral Winston Holt Wiley left, unaware of the damage that he had done.

Even in the low light of the night club, he saw how she'd paled. Obviously she'd recognized his name. And now he would have to learn why it bothered her.

She moved numbly, responded automatically. If her lover was who she suspected he was, her entire life had just crashed down onto her head. _And broken her heart_.

They clinked their glasses. She let him toast _to us._ And then she drank all of her champagne, not even noticing how good it was.

"May I have another?"

He poured, but now he was very worried. Her expression was incomprehensible.

"Shall we go?" he asked.

"Please, _let's dance one more time_."

He silently led her onto the floor, wondering why it felt to him as if it were their final dance. _And his last dance, for he'd never dance again, if it wasn't with her._

The band was playing the old standard by Irving Berlin, "_Always"_.

This time there was no bantering between the lovers. No flirtatious looks. He just held her as they swayed. And she held onto him as if she would never let him go.

And when the number was over, she let him escort her back to their table.

"Shall we go?" His voice was somber. Detached.

A few minutes later they were standing in front of his crackling fireplace. He knew he should say something, but all he could do was kiss her. Softly at first, as if he was waiting for her to leave his arms.

But suddenly, she was ravenous, desperate, kissing him as if she was afraid that he would disappear if she stopped. Her need was great. She didn't break the kiss, even as she shrugged the glittering straps off her shoulders, and stepped out of her dress. She kicked off her shoes. And then she removed his dress jacket. And pulled off his pants.

"Please," she begged.

He sensed her panic. Her anguish. Her need. He fell backwards onto the sofa, bringing her down on top of him. That was when he noticed her tears and tried to kiss them away. But tears kept falling even as she sought to arouse him.

Her fingers sought his heat, found his staff, and started stroking until he was aroused enough for her.

She mounted him, sighing as she sank onto his shaft.

"What, _mon coeur_? What is it?"

"Just one more time, Jean-Luc. Just one more time. _It will have to last me a life time…"_

He cupped her bottom cheeks, and lifted her then let her fall back onto his shaft. He did this several times before she began to rise up and down on her own. Then she stretched out on top of him, keeping him hilted as she moved against him. He rolled her over. He let his passion overrule everything else. He loved her with desperation now, not caring about finesse or skill. Her need fueled his own. He rammed into her now. And all she kept begging was _more. _Their mutual orgasms shattered through them, robbing them of breath and reality for a long while. And when they were calm, neither lover wanted to move, to talk, or to recognize that the world had returned.

Finally she rolled away, and picked up her dress, slipping it back on. She had no idea where her panties had been flung. Then she put on her sandals.

"You're leaving?" He couldn't bear to let her go.

"I have to."

"You have recognized my name?" He sat up and fastened his slacks.

"It's much more complicated than you know."

"It is only as complicated as you make it, _mon coeur." _Her unspoken fear was unsettling.

All expression vanished from her face. Her voice was devoid of emotion. _"I came to Clarion on leave. From the Starfleet Medical Academy, Captain."_

He thought he understood. "You're a cadet and I am a captain.' He winced thinking of all the Starfleet regulations he'd just broken with this cadet. And then he realized that some of those broken rules might have serious consequences especially when it came to fraternization between a senior and a subordinate. "That is a problem, but it may not be totally insurmountable."

She just knew he was thinking that he should have asked her age. "No, it's not what you think. I am old enough. I'm a doctor. First year of internship. I just joined Starfleet Medical so that I could go to the stars."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. She wasn't as young as she appeared to be. Fraternization was still a problem, but it wasn't something that could get them both court-martialed. "There could be difficulties. I realize that I am older than you, but if we both…"

"You don't understand!"

He could see that she was trembling. And crying. He pulled her into his arms, to comfort her.

"What is it that I don't understand?" he whispered against her hair.

"Jack."

His mind raced as he still held her, but the pieces began to click together. "_My Jack Crusher_?"

"Yes. _Captain Jean-Luc Picard!_"

His arms dropped. He was shocked unto the depths of his soul. And scared. _He would lose her. _He walked away trying to assume some semblance of control.

His voice was cold as he spoke. "Jack told me that he was going to ask you to marry him."

"I told him _not_ to. I wanted to think things through. That's why I came to Clarion. To consider everything - all the possibilities.."

"I see."

She thought she saw condemnation in his eyes. "I just wanted to forget about everything for a little while."

"That is what your roommate meant by _one last fling_, isn't it?"

"Yes. But how could I have ever imagined that I was going to meet you? I just wanted to have a little fun. To flirt a little. To dance…"

"Instead, I pulled you into my arms and we seduced each other."

He demonstrated and kissed her, as if he wanted to remove all of her pain and guilt. It was his alone to bear.

"No, Jean-Luc…" She struggled.

He refused to let go of her.

His hands captured her head, cupping her face. He had to see her eyes as he asked, "Do you love me, Beverly?" It was the first time he'd ever said her name.

"Don't ask me that. Jean-Luc."

"You have to answer, Beverly. The only way we can survive this together, is if you are honest with me."

"Please, Jean-Luc." He let her go. She lowered her head, as red gold wisps fell about her collarbone. She rested her forehead on his shoulder.

"I love you." The words were wrenched from her heart. She didn't know how she could mean those words for she could count the time she'd known this man by the hours and not the years, but love him, she did.

Part of his heart rejoiced. But his mind knew better. He lifted her chin, so that he could look at her.

He knew that if he had not been party to everything, and had only learned the facts, he would have condemned her as a selfish, wanton woman who only cared for herself. And a whore who would break his best friend's heart. But, he knew otherwise.

He hoped that one day Jack would forgive him for the choice he was about to make. He pressed a soft kiss against her lips to offer her some comfort. What they had between them was miraculous and too rare to dismiss. They would find a way to stay together. They would survive.

"We will get through this."

"How?"

He pulled her back onto the sofa. "We do need to discuss how we will proceed."

"I have two choices." She sat down, but away from him, nervously stroking the velvet of her dress. "I can marry Jack. Or, I can love you, Jean-Luc."

He already knew what she would decide in his heart. And he grieved for the pain they would inflict upon Jack Crusher. But it was the rest of their life together that worried him. "Beverly, how serious are you about a career in Starfleet medical?"

"Meaning?"

"I realize that you may not understand but I will only marry a civilian. I cannot marry an officer."

"Because?"

"I could never order someone I loved into danger. If you were an officer posted to my ship, then that possibility would exist." He saw the answer in her eyes. "You want to be a CMO, don't you?"

"Yes. I had my life all planned out. And then you came along." She wearily stood knowing there was only one honorable decision to reach. "I will tell Jack that I cannot marry him. Should I tell him why?"

It was his turn to bow his head. "No. We will tell Jack together." He stood and held her hand. "We will do what is right, together." He kissed her brow. "I want you to be my wife. But as long as one of us is a Starfleet officer, we will only be lovers. Or until we can find an acceptable solution."

"Maybe when we retire…"

"A nice little cottage somewhere…"

She smiled at that thought. She knew the place.

"_No! Nonononono_…" Q complained. "_You're supposed to choose Jack, not the Captain_!" Q yelled to himself. He scanned her with his powers. "Well, at least you're preggers…," he chuckled. But then he could only guess at the hell he'd pay if certain supreme beings found out what he'd done, so Q did what was the best thing for Q. Q blinked.

Picard was sent to his empty bed with only vague erotic memories to plague his dreams forever_. And feeling bereft over the loss of an unidentified something. And someone._

And Beverly woke up in her dorm room with a hangover headache, wondering where she'd gotten the earrings. And the dress. _There was something missing from her life. But she couldn't quite remember what it was.._. _That feeling of loss would haunt her for years. _

For Q had erased the memories of Jean-Luc and Beverly being together. _It was truly a lost weekend. But Q had forgotten something of great importance - their feelings…_

_Q couldn't erase them._

_**CONTINUED IN Story 7, THE SKY'S THE LIMIT, listed under the "M" rating.**_


End file.
